


A shorthand of existence

by EclecticInkling



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticInkling/pseuds/EclecticInkling
Summary: A collection of drabbles and snippets from fics I'll never finish.Featuring various characters, relationships, and universes.(title of the collection is from Sleeping at Last's "Timelapse")





	1. The Prodigy

At the Garrison, they call him a prodigy. Say he has a talent that comes around only once in a century. They watch him maneuver the simulator and weave through the sky with an ease the other cadets lack and tell him he must have been a bird in another life because it seems like he was just born to fly. And maybe they’re right.

He doesn’t _feel_ like a prodigy though. Flying is just something he’s good at, and only because he’s grown up moving from Garrison base to Garrison base, stuck in the custody of one officer after the next. And, well, there’s only so much a kid can do in a military base other than to sit in on the cadet classes and learn flight maneuvers he won’t even get to use for another six years, when he turns sixteen and can enlist as a cadet. Everything he and the other cadets are learning in class now he started learning at the age of ten, and he’s pretty sure that’s the only reason he can pick it all up so quickly while the other cadets lag behind. It’s not that he’s a prodigy or anything, like all the officers think. He just had a head start.

That advantage kind of isolates him from the rest of the cadets though. Oh, they all have their opinions of him, ranging anywhere from reverence and admiration to outright fury and jealousy. Keith hears all their gossip and rumors as he walks down the hallways, whether they want him to or not, and he knows his flying skills play a key role in how they all react to him, rather than his actual personality or quiet nature. He thinks that should maybe make it easier for the others, all those that actually want to interact with him, to start up a conversation, but time shows him differently. None of them ever approach him. And they never, ever talk to him. Not directly. Not if they can help it.

Which is why he’s so surprised when one of the cadets— a tall, dark-skinned boy Keith recognizes from one of their weekly lectures— sits across from him at the usually-empty mess hall table Keith occupies during lunch break and holds out a large, calloused hand.

“I’m Lance McClain,” he says, voice loud and direct and purposeful. “First year cadet. Cargo pilot.”

He grimaces just a bit at that last statement, tiny wrinkles forming in the dark skin at the bridge of his nose, but otherwise doesn’t show any of the reactions Keith’s come to expect during conversations with the other cadets. No cagey twitches or shifty eyes. No glowers or unconscious cringing away, even when Keith slowly shifts to take the hand offered to him. Lance’s grip is strong and steady, and his long, thin face is set in an expression of determination. Of challenge, almost.

It’s… refreshing, if Keith is being honest. A breath of fresh air in this place he’s felt smothered by for months.

Keith closes his hand around Lance’s and looks up into his unwavering gaze. “Keith Kogane,” he answers. “First year. Fighter class.”

“Yes. I know.” Lance smiles at him then. Sardonic, and yet still more welcoming and honest than many of the expressions other cadets send his way. It is, without doubt, a smile he can trust, even if it carries more animosity than Keith should be comfortable seeing.

Maybe that says something about him.

He doesn’t linger on it, though. Just pulls his hand back to lace together with his other hand beneath the surface of the table and asks, “Did you need something?” Because why else would this boy who so obviously views Keith as something to beat seek him out for a conversation if not for a specific purpose? Lance might seem like the type to start talking with anybody, but Keith isn’t just anybody. Not to Lance. Not to anyone on this Garrison base except maybe Keith himself.

Lance shrugs and leans back in his chair, folding his long, lanky arms behind his head in a posture of complete ease. For just a moment, Keith feels a spark of jealousy. Wishes he could be as relaxed as Lance in this place that observes and idolizes and _expects more_ from him. Wishes, for just a second, to be a nobody at the bottom of the pack, where he could slip into the shadows without anyone noticing or caring for just once in his life. Wishes, at the same time, to not be so alone.

“Oh, nothing really,” Lance says. “I just hope you aren’t attached to your position at the top of our class, because pretty soon it’ll belong to me. I’m gonna be the one to surpass you.”

Keith doesn’t bother telling Lance that’s exactly what he wants, but it is. It’s what Keith desires above all else right now. Maybe if someone else takes his spot, then everyone will stop looking at him with such hostile and distant eyes. Maybe they’ll stop treating him like some sort of gift from the heavens and start acting like normal human beings in his presence. Maybe it’ll make him approachable enough for the other cadets to finally talk _to_ him instead of _about_ him.

But Keith doesn’t reveal all that. Instead, he quietly says, “Good luck,” to Lance, and, for once, he actually _means_ it.


	2. Black and White

The issue of war and their role in it is all very black and white to Allura. All very clear.

For her, it’s simple. It’s right versus wrong, good versus evil, no grey in between. It’s the righteous might of Voltron versus the cruelty of the Galra Empire, because the Galra are evil and need to be stopped. And, after all, the paladins of Voltron have always been the defenders of the universe. The champions of peace. The ones defeating evil and bringing justice back into the world. She looks at them, worn down and and covered in wounds after some new fight, and sees heroes. And, for a while, that’s what Lance sees too.

He sees them standing tall and strong and victorious on a newly liberated planet. Sees the native crowd flock to them. Sees all the smiles, all the hope, all the joy, and feels pride swell in his chest like a tidal wave. He sees the five of them as part of something bigger. Something better. Something destined, like all the heroes in his favorite comic books.

He sees that, until he doesn’t. Until they liberate a planet they later find out didn’t want to be liberated, because being under Galran rule wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but at least it meant getting a steady supply of imported food. Meant accessible healthcare, and a reliable income, and a sturdy roof overhead. All things the paladins’ interference hacked away from them as swiftly as the swing of Keith’s sword.

And Lance has never been good at accepting he might be wrong, that he’s anything less than what he wants to be, but he wonders now, as he helps the planet’s inhabitants rebuild, if maybe this being-a-paladin thing isn’t as black and white as Allura makes it out to be. If maybe they were just deluding themselves in their thirst for glory. If maybe Voltron’s done just as much harm as good in their quest to overthrow the Galra Empire.

If maybe they aren’t always the heroes after all.


	3. Nothing

Lance recovers from their battle in his room, curled up on his bed, all alone.

He’s been doing that a lot recently. Decompressing alone. It’s not his usual style, but he doesn’t know where else to turn. With Matt’s return, Hunk and Pidge have been busier than ever tracking communication signals and tweaking their machines and doing a whole lot of other things that Lance really can’t understand. Shiro, on the other hand, spends his free time conferring with Allura and Coran, coming up with battle plans and trying to understand the scope of what’s happening with the Galra in rapid jumps of logic that Lance can’t keep up with, no matter how hard he tries. And with Keith off being the golden child of the Blade of Marmora, that leaves Lance with no one. He has only himself, and he’s not very good company.

He just wants to talk to someone. Anyone. It used to be, on nights like this, he would go down to Blue’s hangar and chatter until his mind was silent. Blue would listen the way no one else did— she’d give him her full attention, wrapping him in warmth and acceptance and purring quietly in the back of his mind. But now she’s cut off from him, and Red doesn’t accept him the way Blue did. Red just doesn’t.

It’s not that Red rejects him, per se. There are just things that Red refuses to discuss with him. She keeps herself at a distance, closed off, avoiding anything deeper than simple encouragement and a mutual desire to protect those they care about. And anytime Lance so much as thinks about Keith, Red completely shuts down. Which is understandable, he supposes. Keith’s her paladin. He’s the one bonded to her. She must miss him more than any of them.

Lance doesn’t blame her. He’d step aside if he could. If Keith ever asked it of him.

Keith is the Red Paladin, after all. Not Lance. And, as much as he hates to admit it, he knows Keith is far superior to him in every possible way. Lance can’t fly Red the way Keith does. He can’t dodge a barrage of asteroids, or take down a small army of sentries on his own, or make the Galran tech work for him. He doesn’t know how to make a bomb. Or handle a sword. Has no contacts or connections to rebel groups. Could never break into a Galra ship alone.

The only thing Lance has going for him is his ability to shoot, and even Hunk can do that. Hunk can do _more_ than that. All of the paladins can.

If Keith decides to come back… _When_ Keith decides to come back, Lance will step aside and leave. He has no place in the Castle anymore. No lion, no talent, no reason to stay. Lance has nothing. He is nothing. Just a stand-in, nothing more.

And, slowly, he’s making peace with that.


	4. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a post-season 4 scene I was too emotional NOT to write

He finds Lance waiting on his bed for him when he returns to his room, and can tell from a single glance that Lance _knows_. That somehow— either because Matt or Coran told him, or because he just understands Keith that well, even after so many months apart— Lance knows exactly what happened while Voltron was fleeing Naxzela. What Keith had been prepared to sacrifice. What he’d nearly done.

Lance looks up at the hiss of the door sliding shut. He hasn’t even changed out of his paladin armor. Not fully. His arm guards and chest plate have been removed and discarded on the floor, but otherwise he looks just as he did when Voltron finally reached the Castle again— singed, disheveled, and staring at Keith with large, mournful eyes.

Keith can’t bring himself to meet those eyes. They’re even more blue than Keith remembers, and so full of hurt it makes Keith’s chest ache. Lance should never have to look that way about anything. Particularly not because of him.

Keith turns away and takes his time removing his black, Marmora armor. He can’t bear to see Lance so upset. Can’t stand the heavy silence between them. The thick tension just waiting to snap. Can’t stand it at all, but also can’t think of anything to say to dispel it. Words were never his forte, after all. He was much better with actions. Except, this time, his actions are what’s causing this situation, and he doesn’t quite know how to handle it.

He hangs his armor in his closet— the one spot of black among all the red and white he’s so used to wearing. A visual reminder of all he’s left behind. All he’s given up so his team can keep moving forward. Across the room, Lance shifts. He shifts, and he clears his throat, and Keith closes his eyes, waiting, as always, for Lance to cut through the tension. For the berate that’s surely on his tongue. For the angry words and endless rants he’s come to expect from Lance.

It doesn’t come, though. When Lance finally speaks, it isn’t loud, or enraged, or anything Keith’s used to. It’s soft, instead. So soft he barely hears it. And so rough and broken it nearly breaks his heart.

“Keith,” Lance murmurs, voice shaking even over that single word. “Why?” _Why did you leave? Why did you abandon us? Why did you give up?_ “You glorious, reckless idiot. Why did you do it?”

_Why did you almost let yourself die?_

Keith swallows thickly. “Something had to be done,” he answers. “It was the only choice.” He glances over his shoulder at Lance and gives him a sad smile. “After all, the universe needs Voltron. It doesn’t need me.”

“We need you,” Lance protests, standing. He crosses the room in three quick strides and turns Keith to face him, hands gripping Keith’s shoulders like iron vices, and the most serious expression Keith’s ever seen across his face. “ _I_ need you.”

And if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing Keith’s ever heard. Because if either of them needs the other, it’s not Lance. It’s not this boy who shines so brilliantly, who is everything Keith has ever wanted to be and more, who could probably charm the whole universe into peace if he really put his mind to it.

Keith’s smile turns wry and he shakes his head. “No you don’t, Lance,” he says, emphatically because he needs Lance to understand. “You don’t need me. Just look at everything you’ve done.” _Look at all the people you’ve saved and inspired and encouraged in a way that I never could._

It’s not enough to convey everything Keith thinks about Lance, of course, but he honestly doesn’t think any words in the English language (or any language, even) will ever be enough. There’s no way to describe the way Lance shines in his element. The obvious joy he brings to his flying, and the fierce passion that flares through his fighting. The excitement he exhibits whenever they find a new ally. The way he draws people to him without any actual effort. The way he cares and protects and gives hope wherever he goes.

He’s a much better paladin than he gives himself credit for, and much more valuable to the team than Keith ever could be. Keith’s absence over the past few months has proven that. Has shown Voltron can continue, and even thrive, without him. That they would continue to do so even if Keith _had_ died. They’d still have their heart, after all— it’s right there inside Lance. He’s the drive that pushes them all forward, and the glue that holds them all together, and if Keith can keep that alive by sacrificing himself, he doesn’t consider death too great a loss.

Clearly, however, Lance doesn’t agree. “That’s not what I meant,” he chokes out, voice watery and blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s not what I meant at all, you idiot. This isn’t about the team, or Voltron, or even the whole goddamn _universe_.” His hands shift, sliding across Keith’s shoulders and up his neck to cup his face. Keith fights not to lean into the warmth of Lance’s hands, but when Lance gently tilts his head back he knows it’s a lost cause. He’s so weak to the man standing in front of him. Weaker still to the way his bright blue eyes bore into Keith, more intense than they’ve ever been before. More urgent. More desperate. More filled with longing.

“I’m your right-hand man, aren’t I?” Lance asks softly, so close now that Keith can feel his warm breath against this skin. “We’re in this together, you and me. I’d follow you to ends of the universe. So just please,” he pleads. “Please. Promise me you won’t go where I can’t follow.”

And how can Keith say no to that?

The tears are falling down Lance’s cheeks now, wet streaks against his dark skin. And, this time, seeing Lance so upset over him, over the near loss of him, Keith’s heart does break. It cracks and shatters under the weight of Lance’s grief, and Keith already knows it will never fully recover. Even if he tries to tape it back together and pretend it’s all alright, there will still be fragments missing— little shards that will belong to Lance, and Lance alone, whether Lance realizes that or not.

Keith closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. He turns his head into Lance’s hand, pressing his lips lightly against Lance’s skin, and if Lance is surprised by the gesture, he doesn’t show it. Doesn’t try to pull away or even protest.

“Ok,” he murmurs against Lance’s hand. “Ok, Lance. I promise.”

He’d do much more for Lance if Lance ever asked it of him, but supposes this promise is a good place to start. And when Lance smiles for the first time all day, and then pulls Keith into a tight embrace, he wonders why he ever thought leaving was a good idea. Lance’s arms are warm around him, more comforting than anything Keith’s ever known, and beneath the palm Keith’s spread flat against Lance’s back, he feels the faint, steady thump of Lance’s heart. Takes comfort in the fact that Lance is alive and well and right there with him. Takes comfort in the fact that Keith himself is still alive to feel it.

And, for now, that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! so I have a bunch of drabbles and little snippets from fics I've lost interest in, or that I'll probably never get around to finishing. But I didn't want what I HAVE written to go to waste. Hence this collection.
> 
> Won't be regularly updated because this will be more like a stress-relief, side-project thing, but I will update whenever I have something new. You will also be able to read the drabbles on my tumblr, if that's more your thing. 
> 
> anyways, thanks for taking the time to read! If you have anything you'd like to see me write, let me know! I won't promise that I'll definitely write it, but if I'm interested I'll probably do something for it!


End file.
